All I have to do is dream

There's hardly a day goes by when Mavis does not enter my thoughts. After all these year, her face, her voice is still with me.

It is not bitterness or lingering resentment, nor is it lust that constantly recalls her. Nor is some desire on my part for self-torture.

The physical reality of her seems to have dissolved into an ideal, something unattainable even when attained.

The other night I dreamt of her. I was in a pub, or maybe a hotel lounge for I was lying on a sofa. People around me appeared to be waiting. Then I noticed Mavis out of the corner of my eye. She was with a woman, a younger woman, her daughter? Mavis hasn't got a daughter, as far as I know. I'm not even sure if I recognised Mavis herself. I think I was afraid to greet her her, possibly through fear of rejection.

Then I felt something being laid on my stomach. Money. And Mavis was standing over me, smiling, and saying, 'Don't you now me?'

Last night I dreamt I was locked up in a mental home. I was wearing a uniform of pink pyjamas. I know Mavis was there too, but I never saw her. Apparently there was a plot to free her from this place, because Bill, an old friend of mine, my first best man in fact whom I haven't seen for 20 years, and his wife were with me, whispering conspiratorially. Somehow a doctor was involved. I believe she had been bribed, but she still had a long argument with me about the extent of Mavis' madness.

While my friends went searching for Mavis, I found myself in a kind of dormitory, where a fight broke out. One of the biggest, most unbalanced inmates started a riot and I took the opportunity to slip out and get into Bill's car. Luckily I found her I was now wearing a jacket and tie and we drove without problem through the security gates. We drove wildly - at one point I had to manoeuvre the steering-wheel from the passenger seat - and arrived in a distant town.

'It's a good thing I found this jacket and tie,' I said, and then realised I was still wearing the pink pyjama bottoms.

Next we were sitting in a pub, waiting. It was obviously a rendez-vous.

We paid a lot of money,' said Bill. I hope she comes.'

After a while another friend came in. This was Tom, also dressed in pink, another escapee. He shook his head.

Everyone except me agreed that Mavis was better off where she was.

I gave Tom a hundred pounds to help him while he was on the run. The trauma of this generosity woke me up.